


Secret Weapon

by IrishWitch58



Series: Classified Kitten [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fluff, JB the kitten, M/M, Mistaken assumptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 16:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17287307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishWitch58/pseuds/IrishWitch58
Summary: The saga of the classified kitten continues. JB has acquired a new appliance. Q branch workers are observant, maybe.





	Secret Weapon

Hanson was an experienced senior technician in one of the most secretive agencies in the world. He supervised his shift of workers and reported directly to R, the second in command, something that suited him down to the ground. He sometimes had to deal with Q, the department head but, like most government workers, he tried to stay off the boss's radar. Even so, he was appalled at the lengths some of his subordinates would go to in avoiding dealing directly with Q. Trent was a particular thorn in his side. The man was competent and had been highly recommended but he was a nervous wreck some days. Today was a good day. Trent was slogging through a nasty piece of coding for integrating a new tracking application for the vehicles. It would render the tracking less subject to notice or hacking. Hanson briefly checked the work of the others and found himself pleased with the progress. He cast a glance at the mission status. Nothing crucial was happening. The board showed 004 on the way to Spain and 003 ensconced in a hotel in Istanbul awaiting contact with an arms dealer. Everything seemed to be humming along nicely. 

He took a moment to make his way over to the drinks station and poured a cup of coffee that was mercifully freshly brewed. He was adding a dash of cream when a crash broke the steady business like hum of activity. He immediately turned to assess the problem. Trent was standing at his station, trying to gather up an assortment of items that he had apparently knocked off his desk. He kept glancing at the door to Q's office. Sighing, Hanson prepared to deal with whatever this fresh hell was. He crossed to Trent's desk. “Is there something wrong?”

Trent leaned closer and made a show of rearranging his stapler and pens. “He's back and he's with HIM,” Trent hissed out.

Hanson fortified himself with a sip of coffee that was actually acceptable. “I assume you mean Q has come in after his lunch break and that he is accompanied by someone. Dare I guess it might be 007 based on the level of your anxiety?”

Trent's eyes darted from the door to Hanson. “Of course. What else?” He lowered his voice even further. “I think he has that cat with him again. Do you suppose it's got hacked DNA or something? Maybe it's supposed to carry a new weapons system?”

“I don't presume to know what projects our department head has in the pipeline. When something is ready for our input, we will hear about it.” He sipped his lifesaving coffee and glanced at the work Trent had been doing. “Is that almost done?”

Trent relaxed minutely, straightening up a bit as he was able to demonstrate his competence. “All ready. I just debugged that pesky middle section.”

Hanson nodded approval. “Excellent. Then you have time to do the schedule for next month. It's your turn. And as soon as it's done you need to give it to the Boss.” Hanson turned back to his own station, missing the look Trent shot at the door.

Trent glanced periodically at Q's office door as he worked. It remained closed, the windows opaqued. About twenty minutes after he began on the schedule, the noise level rose. Oh sweet heavens, the Boss was yelling again. Most of it was indistinct. There was an occasional word he might have taken for an expletive but this was the Boss. He was apparently dressing down 007 yet again as there were several shouts of 'Bond!'. The Boss seemed to have an explosive temper where the agent was concerned and this shouting went on for some time, punctuated by an occasional sound of something hitting the desk. The furor peaked and then quieted down and Trent worked steadily, if a bit slowly, on the schedule. He eventually could not delay any longer. He was done and had to bring the schedule for approval so it could be posted. 

Trent knocked at the door with what he hoped sounded a confident rap. A mechanical click indicated the lock disengaging. Trent entered, the door shutting quickly behind him. He shuddered as he glanced around the small space. The battered sofa against the far wall was occupied by none other than 007, his suit jacket draped over the back cushion. He was stretched out, apparently unconscious. Good heavens what had the Boss done to the man? There was a small carrier with mesh sides on the floor next to the sofa but it was empty, the creature intended to occupy it reclining on 007's considerable chest. The fluffy black and white kitten was wearing some odd appliance around it's neck and had a shaved spot on it's left front leg. Trent stared until a soft throat clearing caused him to remember his original purpose. Q was seated behind his desk, an expression of mild puzzlement on his face. 

“Trent, is something wrong? You look a bit peaky.” Q gestured to the spreadsheet in Trent's hand. “Is that for me?”

“Yes, sir,” Trent managed, reaching gingerly forward as Q made a grabby hands gesture. He scanned the sheet, made a small notation next to his own name for a date two weeks ahead and passed it back. He waved a hand at the door and Trent managed to get his feet to move, heaving a sigh of relief when the door hissed closed behind him. He made his way back to his station. Hanson came over a few minutes later to get the completed schedule. He noted the alteration in the Boss's precise block printing and added a note to himself to make sure there was coverage for that day by R or one of the other senior managers. 

“Trent, you look a bit ill. What's going on?” Hanson didn't want some bug ruining the smooth running of his shift.

“It's the Boss. I think he knocked 007 out. He's on the sofa. And that kitten has some device on it. I think he has some kind of new weapon and he tested it on an agent. Isn't that against policy?” Trent stared worriedly at the closed door.

Hanson considered a moment. “I am sure Q knows what he is doing. For all we know, the agent may have volunteered. In any case, if there is an issue, it is for him to make a complaint about workplace safety since we saw nothing. If we do make an issue, there will be paperwork. We do not want more paperwork. Perhaps count it as a blessing. A 00 agent on the sofa is one who is not bothering us and ruining our routine.” Hanson nodded to himself, sanguine in his policy of less contact with the higher ups the better and always seek to diminish paperwork. He returned to his desk and sent an inter office memo to R to make sure she was aware of the need for her to cover the date Q had indicated he would be absent. 

 

Bond began to stretch and felt the slight weight on his chest. JB glared at him from inside his post surgical cone, the look guaranteeing mayhem when he was once more capable. He spoke softly. “Was someone just in here?”

Q snorted. “I'm surprised you didn't try to shoot him. You didn't stir until he was gone.I guess a big lunch makes you sleepy.” He smiled engagingly.

Bond gave a devious snicker. “After lunch blow jobs do an even better job. Not that it seems to have affected you.” He considered the kitten, running a finger over the silky fur. “Of course having to listen to this one moan about no food all night and then chasing him down to get him in the carrier may also have contributed. You sure he's going to be all right?”

“Neutering surgery is an innocuous procedure, especially at his age. He'll be fine.” Q glanced at the clock. “It's been enough time. The vet said we can feed him now. Just take the collar off for a bit while I put some food down for him.” Bond did as asked and the little cat shook himself to settle his fur and padded over to the bowls Q set out, diving into the food and making a ridiculous amount of noise about it. Bond settled back and relaxed. JB seemed, as Q asserted, just fine. Q nudged the sofa a few minutes later. “I'm done for the day. I think I might get out early.” He recollared the kitten and stuffed him into the carrier and grabbed his coat and scarf. Bond hefted the carrier behind him as they left, brushing shoulders as they headed for the lift.

“Amnesia weapon,” Trent muttered, watching the two men leave in apparent good humor. “The damned thing broadcasts some signal that knocks a body out and makes them forget it was even used.” He shook his head, somehow bothered by the idea even if it had been tested on one of the dreaded 00's. 

Hanson, heading to the coffee machine for his last cup of the shift, overheard. “Trent, do you want to volunteer to be the person to tell 007 he was the victim of an amnesia weapon?”

Trent gulped audibly. “No, Mr. Hanson.” He shook his head to emphasize his reluctance. 

Hanson nodded sagely. “If he needs to know something, who briefs him?”

“The Boss does,” Trent replied promptly.

“Exactly. The Boss does his job and we do ours and we keep our noses out of business that needn't concern us.” Convinced he had settled the matter sufficiently, Hanson returned to his neatly organized station and began the report for signout to the head of the next shift. Weaponized kittens! Ridiculous. This wasn't some foolish Hollywood espionage movie with bizarre weapons and villains who monologued. He hoped Trent would settle down. Maybe when 007 went out on his next mission things would improve. Field agents had their place and it wasn't here in Q branch.


End file.
